“Oh, you are so lovely!” he gurgled. “Don’t cry, Miss Madison. It’s not a real man. It’s only I–Betty Wales.”
“Betty!” gasped Alice. “Betty Wales, what are you doing? Is it really you?”
“Of course,” said Betty calmly, pulling off her wig by way of further evidence, and sitting down with careful regard for her coattails in the nearest chair. “I hope,” she added, “that I haven’t really worried Miss Madison. Take the screen away, Alice, and see what she’s doing.”
“Oh, I’m all right now, thank you,” said Miss Madison, pushing back the screen herself. “But you gave me an awful fright. What are you doing?”
“Why, we’re going to give a play at our house Saturday,” explained Betty, “and to-night was a dress rehearsal. I wanted to bring Alice a ticket, and I thought it would be fun to come in these clothes and frighten her; so I put on a skirt and a rain-coat and came along. I left my skirt in your entrance-way. Get it for me please, Alice, and I’ll put it on before I send any one else into hysterics.”
“Oh, not yet,” begged Miss Madison. “I want to look at you. Please stand up and turn around, so I can have a back view.”
Betty readjusted her wig and stood up for inspection.
“What’s the play?” asked Alice.
Betty considered. “It’s a secret, but I’ll tell you to pay for giving you both such a scare. It’s ‘Sherlock Holmes.’ Mary Brooks saw the real play in New York, and she wrote this, something like the real one, but different so we could do it. She could think up the plot beautifully but she wasn’t good at conversation, so Katherine helped her, and it’s fine.”
“Is there a robbery?” inquired Alice.